


dehiscence

by parumleo



Category: Caduceus | Trauma Center Series
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gen, I am so sorry, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parumleo/pseuds/parumleo
Summary: de·his·cence (noun) | a surgical complication in which a wound ruptures along an incision.Tyler had hoped Amy would be safe from post-GUILT syndrome. He was wrong.
Relationships: Amy Chase & Tyler Chase
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	dehiscence

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this between the hours of 11pm and 4am, spurred on by the lovely members of the Trauma Center Discord server. I haven't written anything for TC in over a decade, so when the words of this started pouring out, I... picked it up and ran with it. I've spent a lot of time in hospital in my life (and recently underwent emergency surgery myself) with an overprotective brother able to do nothing but wait in the wings, so this piece was surprisingly cathartic to write! Some of Tyler's speech to Amy is directly lifted from a string of (drunken) texts my own brother sent me on New Year's Eve. 
> 
> Thanks to all of you for your encouragement and time, and I hope you enjoy what I've churned out.

It’s early morning, and Tyler’s about to leave for work, when Amy wanders up to him and says "Tyler, I don't feel well." And just like that, the pit of dread opens back up, like a ruptured incision, and swallows him whole.

_Amy’s recovery from GUILT felt instant. As soon as she awoke from the anaesthesia and looked at him with those huge brown eyes and blearily said "Hi. I'm alive,”, he knew everything was going to be fine. In the three years since, things had been going better than Tyler dared hope. It seemed like Amy had gotten back the years that were stolen from her. She had so much energy, he'd forgotten what it looked like on her. She wanted to do everything, see everything, and he found it equal parts exhausting and exhilarating._

_He thought she’d shaken off most of the mental scars, too – all that she'd been left with was a deep desire to never admit she was ill. Colds, coughs, even the ‘flu one year, but she never complained. Even when he'd forced her to stay off school sick, she did so begrudgingly, and would not be confined to bed. She was as saccharine as ever. Even when he could tell she was feeling rough, she never complained. Tyler shouldn't have been surprised: he always heard that kids were resilient, but it startled him, how easily Amy seemed to forget what she'd been through. But Tyler wasn't sure he ever could. It still came back to him – usually late at night, when he should have been sleeping – how emaciated she looked, how she would twist a pained grimace into a smile for his benefit, how she silently put up with treatments and tests that would make anyone feel subhuman._

_He'd never cried in front of her, but sometimes, after he’d left her room, he’d find an isolated spot in the hospital and just let it out for a while. He thought he was being stealthy, but clearly, he wasn’t: sometimes, Leslie would join him. "I know it's not nearly the same as what you feel," she murmured one dark afternoon, sitting by his side on a rarely used staircase, "but I love her, too.” Tyler felt equally grateful and guilty for this: grateful, because it was good to have one other person who he didn’t have to hide anything from, but guilty that he’d dragged her into this, and now she was suffering too._

_After Amy’s surgery, as soon as they’d watched Derek dress her incision, Leslie had wept. Tyler had expected to, but he just felt numb relief – as though it had all been a nightmare he’d just woken from. He’d hoped they never had to go through that again… but now here he was, and it was happening again._

Tyler realised he’d been staring at Amy in disbelief this entire time. “Sorry,” he says, forcing himself to smile in apology. “Just thinking. What’s wrong?” He doesn’t know how he can sound so normal, when he feels anything but.

“I’ve just been sick,” she says quietly. Too quietly. Her breathing sounds shallow, and louder than her actual speech. Before he can think about that anymore, she carries on. “I wasn’t sure – I wanted to wait, because I thought – I hoped – it would go away, and I didn’t want to worry you, because I wasn’t sure, but then I was sick and everything started hurting even worse, and I—"

Before she can finish, her eyes widen. In just a second, she clamps her hands to her mouth, shakes her head, turns and flees. He follows close behind, the _thud–thud–thud_ of his footsteps matching the dull thumping of his heart and the sonorous chant of _please no, please no, please no_ in his head. He can already hear her retching, and by the time he makes it to the bathroom the liquid in the toilet bowl is the vivid red of fresh blood. It looks stark against the white porcelain.

_SHIT._

Oh, no. Oh no, no, no, _no_. This cannot be happening again. This is _not_ happening again. This could be nothing. It could still be nothing. Gastroenteritis, maybe she’s eaten something bad, or an ulcer, maybe she’s been overworking herself, or taking too much ibuprofen, something temporary, because she was fine just yesterday, just _please_ , God, _fuck_ , not this again. _She was fine just yesterday_ , he thinks, trying to quell his rising panic, but then he remembers Sidney’s words: _“It’s the typical case for those who develop Post-Guilt Syndrome. The onset of it is very sudden.”._ Post-Guilt Syndrome. And there it was. He’d admitted the thought, and now he couldn’t take it back.

The sight of Amy shaking snaps him back to reality. Now wasn’t the time to do this. Not when she was there in front of him, trembling, looking years younger again, so fragile it made his heart ache.

She vomits again, but the retching is interspersed with startled sobs and the pitiful sound spurs him into action, although all he can do is crouch behind her and rub her back, making soothing noises and offering her tissues. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispers over and over, knowing that _she_ knows she’s anything but, but unable to say anything else. She quietens, hunched over the toilet trembling for a few moments more, before she looks up at him and asks, “What’s going on?”.

 _She’s not stupid, she already knows what you’re thinking_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t want to answer the question. He doesn’t want to tell her the truth, but it would be a disservice to lie to her. _She deserves to know what’s going on_ , he chastises himself, but another part answers _I don’t want to put her through any more stress_. He stalls for several seconds and could kick himself when her gaze slides away from his in resignation.

“I don’t know,” he lies, the familiar stone–in–throat feeling returning. “Are you okay? Has it stopped for now?” he asks, and she nods, so he continues. “Alright. Put your shoes on,” he croaks, straightening up. “We’re going to the hospital.” He was expecting resistance, but she just nods silently, and the dread deepens even further.

Amy stops in front of the door. “What if I throw up in the car?” she asks warily, and the question was so mundane Tyler could have laughed. He _did_ laugh, and saw Amy’s trembling smile flash across her face for a moment.

“Doesn’t matter. But I’ll get you a bowl, if you think it’s gonna happen again. If it’ll stop you worrying.”

“Thanks, Tyler,” she murmurs, and then they are out of the door (bowl in hand).

He drives like he’s fleeing for his life – and in a way, he is. Her life, but his, too: what was his life if not to take care of her? Recklessly, one hand on the wheel – Amy clutches at the other like a lifeline – he calls the one person he knew would understand him immediately.

“Morning, Tyler! I’m nearly there, maybe five minutes away, but the bus—” Leslie sounds cheerful, even so early in the morning.

“Leslie,” he says, and he sounds eerily solemn. “Can you – as soon as you get in, can you find everyone? Derek, Angie, Sidney, Victor, just… get everyone who’s already in, I don’t care what they’re doing.” There’s silence, lasting for a few heartbeats. “It’s Amy,” he adds, although he knows it’s unnecessary. There’d only be one reason for him to lose his characteristic optimism.

She’s all business. “I’m on it. We’ll meet you by the main entrance,” she says swiftly, before hanging up on him. Tyler exhales shakily. He can sense, in his peripheral vision, Amy shifting slightly in her seat.

“How’re you holding up, Amy?”

“I’m fine,” she says, although her breathing sounds more forced than before. He snorts in mock derision, and she giggles, before she speaks again: “Tyler?”  
“Hm?”

“What’s going to happen?”

He’d been so wrapped up in getting there that he’d forgotten to tell her anything, and he mentally kicked himself again. “Right, sorry. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll get you admitted, probably do an endoscopy first—” she interrupts him with a loud groan and he feels his face form a smile of its own volition “—yeah, I know, they’re the worst, but it won’t take long, maybe a couple of extra scans depending on what else we need to know, and then we’ll decide where to go from there, yeah? I’ll be with you as much as I can, and when I can’t be with you, Leslie will. That sound okay?” He squeezes her hand in encouragement.

“Yeah,” she says distractedly. “It sounds easy when you put it like that. But I don’t know if I can do all of this again.” Her voice is flat and detached. He recognises that tone: even though her face is turned away from him, he can tell she’s fighting back tears. Tyler takes a deep breath, considering his words for a few seconds before he replies.

“Of course, it’s not easy. It’ll probably never be _easy_. But I also know you’re strong enough to handle this. Stronger than most of us adults,” he says, the words coming more easily as he continues to speak. She scoffs at him, but he won’t be deterred. “Look… I don’t think you have a sense of how brave you are. I want to lift you up on my shoulders so the whole world can see you survive everything you’ve survived. So many can learn from you being so strong for so long. And I wish you could see yourself as I do. Because if you could you’d never doubt yourself or be uncertain again. This won’t be easy, but I know you can do it. You’ve survived much worse for much longer.”

She sniffs, and when she says, “Thank you,” her voice is shaky.

“I didn’t mean to make you _cry_. Pretty sure I’m the worst brother in the world,” he admits, and she giggles.

“No, it’s a good cry. Thank you. I’m always braver with you around. I love you.”

His heart swells, and then he’s on the verge of tears himself.

Traffic is (blessedly) light, which is an absolute miracle at this time of the morning. They make good time, which is just as well, because Tyler can tell Amy’s pain is worsening by the minute. She isn’t making a sound, but she’s constantly fidgeting, unable to get comfortable, and every so often she curls up like a pillbug for a few minutes before straightening. As soon as he’s parked – haphazardly, but he really couldn’t care less right now – he shoves his way out of the car, opens Amy’s door and helps her slide out. “Are you okay? Can you walk?” he frets, since by this point she’s hunched over like an old woman, both hands grasping at her abdomen like she can squeeze the pain away.

“Of course I can _walk_ ,” she says, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He’d have carried her in if she needed it, but he’s glad she doesn’t think things are that bad yet (and that she’s still able to sass him). She winds her arm around his, and together they walk slowly towards the doors.

Leslie is suddenly _there_ , and Tyler has never been so grateful to see her. She whisks Amy a short distance away into the lobby with ease borne of long practice, and draws her into conversation so she can’t hear the worried conversation Derek and Sidney are having. Tyler hesitates to join them, too busy watching Leslie and Amy. Leslie is peppering Amy with questions: “I can’t believe how much taller you are! I think you’ll outgrow me at this rate. How have you been? I hear you’ve been doing really well at school. I guess you finally decided it was worth doing your homework, huh?” The questioning starts out conversational, but over time Leslie slowly draws Amy into divulging her symptoms. Tyler shakes his head. He didn’t know how she did it. If he tried that, she’d see through it in seconds.

“Dr. Chase?” he hears Sidney say faintly.

Tyler immediately feels guilty that he hasn’t been listening. “Ah – sorry, Chief, I—”

Sidney looks tense (when does he not?) but he’s patient enough to repeat his question. “What are Amy’s symptoms right now?”

“H–haematemesis, started this morning,” he begins, tripping over the memory. Amy hurling up more blood than he thought her body could even contain was not something he wanted to remember, ever again. “Abdominal pain, probably severe, but she’s too good at hiding it to have told me until it got unbearable… it sounds like she’s having some trouble breathing, too. It… do you think it’s—”

“PGS? I think we ought to assume so, for the moment.” Sidney pauses for a split second before a plan is made. “We need blood drawn immediately – pay attention to her haemoglobin, and let the lab know we might need blood on a moment’s notice. She was typed before, yes?” Tyler nods, and Sidney continues. “Place a large–bore cannula too, then. We need to be prepared in case she loses any more blood. We’ll perform an EGD immediately afterwards, and Derek, get ready for surgery in the meantime. If we find any signs of PGS, we’ll want to operate immediately.”

“What about me?” Tyler could hear himself say, although he sounds dazed. He’s still looking towards where Leslie and Amy are laughing together, and Amy looks like she’s been distracted from some of her pain.

“You can help Ms. Sears – you should stay with Amy.”

He’s been let off easy. Unable to tear his gaze from his sister, Tyler nods. “Right. Thanks, Chief.”

He only looks up when Derek rests a hand on his shoulder. “Tyler… she’s going to be fine. You did the right thing, bringing her in right away. We’ll look after her.”

Tyler nods again. He couldn’t argue with Derek, who’d already saved her life once – and here he was volunteering to do it again. “Thanks, man. I really don’t deserve you, y’know.”

“It’s my payment for your coaching me in med school,” Derek jokes, his tone sombre but his eyes light.

“Yeah, except I sucked as a tutor,” Tyler replies, feeling the iron grip in his chest ease. _It’s going to be okay. She’s going to be okay._

“Well, I graduated, so you can’t have been that terrible.” Derek grins at him, before his face sobers again. “Will you be okay?”

Tyler swallows, and turns to watch Leslie lead Amy away, towards a room of her own. At the door, Amy turns around for one last glance at him. She meets his eyes, gives him a wan smile and a thumbs-up. Then she turns and marches through the door, head held high.

He turns back to Derek. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Let’s get going.”


End file.
